


High as a Kite--and Angry as One Too

by Capucine



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidentally High, Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Humor, Based on a Tumblr Post, Begrudgingly Brothers, Brothers, Gen, High on Pain Meds, Medicinal Drug Use, References to Drugs, mostly a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim has been treated for his injuries, but is dealing with the effects of medication. Which are pretty hilarious, to Jason, except that perhaps reading Tim's file and not giving him the meds which cause some psychosis might've been much better...</p>
<p>Not really an angst fic, but there are some undertones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High as a Kite--and Angry as One Too

Tim on pain meds was hilarious at times.

The kid just didn't know when to lie down and sleep it off, and kept trying to work and such. Problem was, his brain was fucking scrambled—like eggs, messily yellow and white eggs—and he was definitely not solving anything.

Jason watched him with an amused smirk, as he printed out a photocopy of a semi-famous baseball player from the 1930's for the tenth time. He wasn't sure if Tim was mixing him up with a suspect, was simply pressing the wrong buttons and not aware, or if something even more disordered was going on.

“So, Tim.”

Tim didn't look up, typing fairly fast despite a bandage on his palm. Jason leaned over his shoulder just a bit, not too close, and choked back laughter as he read the apparent search.

'find cluies on world leadera terroer Batman quiet wells hellme3t clues w2hen'

And he caught Tim's wrists at that point, drawing them away from the keyboard. The motion deleted the last search, and prompted it to show all the most recent searches in a drop down list—all of which were as incoherent and badly typoed.

Tim made an annoyed grunt. “Damian-Dick- _Jason_ \--” he seemed irritated that Jason had dared not to have the name 'Damian', or even 'Dick', “I have to solve the case.”

“Uh huh. 'The case.' What is 'the case,' Timbers?” Jason wasn't about to let him potentially destroy shit on the computer—or reveal identities or so on. Cause, yeah, it was funny, but he was kinda tied into it at the moment.

Tim let out a huff that become an elongated sigh instead. “The case. The really important one, Jason.”

“And it's important because...?”

Tim let out an irritated moan. “Jason! I have to do this! I have to save the world!”

“Grandiose ambitions there, Timbo, but I highly doubt--” Jason caught the name from the picture, “Mel Ott is returning from the grave to upset the balance of baseball, kay? I'm gonna put you on the couch.”

Tim stared at the pictures for several minutes, because Jason figured if he went along willingly, it would be much simpler for him. Finally, he said, irritably, “Jason, those are my notes. Stop looking at them, you'll ruin them.”

“Oh, will I?” Jason couldn't hide his smirk, and Tim glared when he saw it.

“I'm busy. Go away.” And he turned back to the computer, trying to bring his hands back to the keys, despite the fact Jason had not let go of them.

“For someone who literally shattered his ankle, you sure think you're just fine, don't you?” Jason kept his wrists trapped. “Tim, I'm gonna lift you and put you on the couch, kay? Doctor said you should _recover_ from surgery, which in my world, involves actual covers. And resting.”

“I'm going to kill you.”

Jason wasn't sure he heard that low, muttered declaration. “Come again, Tim?”

“I'll kill you if you put me in bed.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jason muttered to himself, “They gave you that shit again, didn't they? God...can no one read a fucking file anymore?”

Pain meds, Tim could handle, as nonsensical as he sometimes got high...a certain kind of antibiotics, not so fucking much. All Jason really knew about it was that it ended in -in—and Tim had done some fucking weird things on it last time.

Tim was also physically weak at this point, thank god—because his attempts to pull back towards the keyboard were useless, as was the attempt to kick Jason with the goddamn shattered ankle, which was ensconced in a thick, white cast.

And thank god he was physically weak, because Jason got him over his shoulder easily—ignoring the pained cry. Yeah, Tim had also bruised his ribs and shit, but Jason wasn't seeing how he was going to get him to bed otherwise.

“Jason, stop—I don't want to be Red Hood!”

“You're not gonna be Red Hood, Tim,” Jason sighed, carrying Tim towards his room. The psychotic shit from the antibiotics that those fuckers shouldn't have given him combined with the high state achieved from the pain meds were probably a pretty terrible combination—but at least it made Tim fairly ineffective.

“Yes, I am—you're trying to m-make me your sidekick!”

Jason sighed again. “Tim, if I was going to make you my sidekick, I wouldn't give you my damn name, kay?”

“But I'm Red Robin.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So I have to be Red Hood. Red's the color I have to be.”

Jason sighed for what felt like the millionth time. “Okay, Tim. Whatever you say. Either way, no, not making you my sidekick. Just putting you in bed.”

Tim struggled a bit, but it was like restraining a kitten—a heavy kitten, but still. “I have to save the whole thing, Jason! I have to, we can't have a Hoodman--”

“Who's Hoodman, Tim?” Jason got into the doorway to Tim's bedroom. Tim had been camped out in a study.

“You—you know. The one with the—the thing. You know.”

“Very clear and descriptive, Timbers. Good job. Now go to sleep.” He put him in the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. 

Tim shifted, muttering, “No, Jason—I have so many to do—A lot, you don't—I have to save the world from _everybody_.”

“Well, we'll focus on Mel Ott in the morning, kay? For now, you're gonna stick it to them by sleeping. Show em they don't bother you.” Jason felt like he should not have been the one left stuck in the house with Tim. He would've left, but he didn't feel right leaving while Alfred was still down in the Batcave and Tim could hurt himself.

Tim gave a huff. “Not even...not sleepy...Jason...I have to, uh...”

“Just pretend to sleep, kay? Fake it real good. That way, they'll think you aren't paying attention, right? Then, you can jump up and surprise them!” Jason hoped he didn't sound too much like he thought he was talking to a particularly stupid kid.

Tim, however, seemed to accept this. “Yeah...surprise em...”

He was out in moments.

Jason sighed. He was going to kill Dick for 'running out to get stain remover' or whatever shit excuse he made. 

Course, there _was_ blood on the carpet, from Tim trying to get at what he must have thought was a spy device and stabbing himself in the palm of the hand, but yeah.

Still going to kill Dick.

And tape this next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Psychosis from new meds--particularly stuff like antibiotics, pain meds, and anesthesia--is a thing. It's temporary, which is why Jason is not more concerned. My dear sister becomes batshit crazy when she has anesthetic--last time she woke up screaming that she was going to kill the doctor, and the days afterwards were really not pleasant. She'd start hitting me when I tried to administer meds through her IV, insisting that 'Mom said I could sleep!' 
> 
> I was trying *not* to wake her up. :P Not a fun first year of college by any means.
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed the story! I was inspired by several posts on Tumblr about Tim high on pain meds. :)


End file.
